


Fish and Chips

by dozmuffinxc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One-Shot, Valentine's Day Prompt, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes is full of surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fish and Chips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merindab](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=merindab).



Greg should have known something was amiss when he saw light shining through the windows of his flat, but he was so knackered after 15 hours on the job that it didn’t even occur to him to be suspicious. 

Shouldering open the door, he nearly dropped his keys on the mat from the shock of finding Mycroft Holmes leaning casually against the kitchen counter in his impeccably pressed suit, umbrella tucked neatly under his arm.

“Welcome home, Gregory.”

“Jesus, Myc – nearly gave me a heart attack! How – how did you get in?”

Shaking his head, Greg staggered over the threshold. “Never mind, don’t answer that,” he said, and he just caught the shadow of a smug smile playing at the edges of the other man’s lips.

Rather than reply, Mycroft beckoned Greg into the sitting room-cum-dining area where – would surprises never cease? – a crisp white table cloth had been draped precisely over Greg’s secondhand table. Candles flickered merrily, illuminating a bottle of merlot already breathing next to two ready wine glasses and place settings made up for two. Something, though, wasn’t quite right…

“Are those… did you get chips?”

Sure enough, stacked high on the gleaming china plates were mounds of the greasiest chips Greg had ever seen and – more wonderous still – two healthy portions of deep fried cod, steam still issuing from the crisp, golden batter.

“Well, this is… unexpected,” Greg sputtered, turning around to regard Mycroft with wide-eyed wonder.

“I happened to hear that you’d had a particularly trying day,” Mycroft replied, leaning his umbrella against the wall and crossing the room. “I knew you would be too tired to stop for your usual post-case fare, so I thought I would bring it to you.”

Greg felt an unexpected lump in his throat as he regarded the peculiar, brilliant, terrifying man who had become so dear to him these last five months.

“But you hate pub food,” Greg said, stepping closer to Mycroft and staring deeply into his pale blue eyes.

“Yes,” Mycroft murmured, his eyebrows raising slightly, “but I know what you like.”

“Oh yes,” Greg said, his voice a bit rough as he pulled Mycroft’s face down to his, “yes, you do.”


End file.
